


i really (really) like you

by solsix



Series: and so we just hold on [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Blind Character, Blind Date, Disability, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Food, Humor, M/M, Sam-Centric, T'Challa Is a Good Bro, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsix/pseuds/solsix
Summary: The date so far is playing through Sam’s mind like one of those old movie reels, and he’s pretty sure his mistakes have overrun the good things. “I stranded him in the middle of this place, spilled his drink over him, and I almost let him go hungry!” Sam pauses and shakes his head, running his hand over his hair before it comes down over his face. “I almost starved my date, man!"
Sam's has a blind date with a friend of a friend of a friend. There's a reason he keeps to the swipe right kind of lifestyle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is the outcome of me being obsessed with the tv show first dates, there not being enough sam/bucky fics without steve being all up in their business (love you, darling, but please back the hell up), and me just writing for my own self satisfaction. i'll write a little drabble about them, they say.
> 
> 10.5k words later...
> 
> title is obviously from carly rae jepsen's _i really like you_.
> 
> (ps. totally unbeta-ed so any mistakes are my own!)

Why Sam ever let himself be convinced into going on a blind date, he’ll never know. He’s not the dating type of guy, not since he had that one way back in ’07 when the guy had ate his way through a three course meal and then left him with a bill he couldn’t afford and a bottle of overpriced wine that he didn’t even like. After that, dating just wasn't necessary when he had Riley. Not that he isn’t used to the whole wine, dine and sixty nine thing (he has quite an impressive back catalogue, thank you very much), it’s just that it’s been so long now, and he's had so many bad (awkward) experiences, that he really just can’t remember how to initiate the whole thing anymore. Maybe it might be worth it to just put up with the unsolicited dick pics just to make his life easier, Sam thinks…and maybe guys who look absolutely nothing like their profile pictures aren't so bad, anyway. Not that he looks like the twenty four year old version of himself that he has up on his profile right now, but it's definitely closer than the balding middle aged dad of four who turned up the other night under the guise of a Jake Johnson lookalike. Sam had to close the door on that one. 

Looking into the mirror, he gives himself another once over and takes a step closer to fix his hair, taking the time to rub some of the fancy, new coconut oil he bought earlier that day into the tight curls. He reminds himself that he needs to make an appointment for a trim before he has a whole situation on his hands (or on his head, if you will), and lets out a heavy sigh once everything looks in order. “Not bad, Wilson,” he mumbles under his breath, smoothing down his shirt, tucking everything where it needs to be, and giving himself an extra spritz of _Pacco Rabbane_ for good measure. “S’good as we’re gonna get.” He gives himself a thumbs up to his reflection and bounces out of his bedroom, moving through to the living room as he looks down at the different reminders he now has on his phone. God, he really needs to call his sister. “Sarah would have a fit if she knew I was going on a blind date,” he points out, sliding his phone into his back pocket and looking into the living room where T’Challa is supposed to be. “And you don’t even know the guy, so If I get murdered tonight I’m coming back to haunt your sorry ass.”

From what Sam could gather, it was T’Challa’s work friend who had a friend, who had a friend, who had a friend, who was going to be Sam’s date for the night. It was all very vague. How it came about, he isn’t sure, but somehow the idea took over his mind and he had said yes before he had even realised what he was agreeing to. Then again, maybe the other guy was more apt at avoiding uncomfortable and awkward social situations like this one was going to be. Well, whatever. At least he’ll get a good meal and maybe a little extra dessert out of, right? _This isn’t going to be anything._ “It’s totally your fault that that thing keeps coming in here,” Sam says as soon as he sees T’Challa, the older man stooped low over a giant cat with whiskers on only half of its face, “Stop feeding it and it’ll stop coming.”

It is a fluffy, overgrown, grey and white hairball of a cat with a squashed face and white fur on its feet that makes it look like it’s wearing socks. It’s only when it stands, pads around T’Challa’s ankles, and then plonks itself back down again that Sam hears the distinct sound of a bell…on a collar. “She doesn’t keep coming, my friend,” T’Challa grins, his fingers gently scritch-scratching behind the cat’s ears so it purrs and closes its big eyes, “She lives here now. Her name is Inyanga. Igokra and Ebsuku have taken quite a liking to her, as have I.” 

Sam stares at T’Challa as if he’s buffering, one hand poised as if he’s ready to say something and the other resting on his hip as he blinks and opens his mouth to speak. “A’ight,” he mumbles, turning around and immediately wondering how he came to be living with his not-boyfriend and their three stupid, squashed faced cats. "Hey, we better get going if we're gonna get there on time. There's no way I'm going on a blind date without an out." Sam turns and shoots T'Challa a wink as he steps up behind him. "You're that out."

"I'm not going to play this game, my friend," T'Challa says as though he's the Oprah of the dating world, even if he's sliding his leather jacket onto his shoulders as he speaks and has every intention of seeing how this plays out. "Seeing strangers in my apartment at five in the morning is getting old, Sam."

"Our apartment," Sam corrects, stuffing his feet into his favourite boots and tucking the laces into the sides, "And they're not strangers. They're our lovely friends who are doing good in the world by getting me fucking laid." Those are Sam’s final words as he yanks open the door and holds it for T’Challa, the both of them leaving their apartment into the pouring rain outside.

Sam doesn't say another word. He only jumps down the steps and begins walking the way to the subway station, neither of them speaking until Sam swears as he fiddles to get his Metrocard from the tight pockets of his wallet. He's beeped through along with everyone else and hops on the downtown C-train without a second thought, the both of them throwing themselves into the two best seats right next to the end door of the car. "What's this guy's name again?" Sam asks, figuring he should at least try to be polite and remember his name. He's awkward enough without the whole _"so how exactly do you spell your name again?"_ thing.

"His name is James." Sam lets out a relieved sigh ( _"Dodged a bullet there,"_ he thinks) and nods, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket as the umbrella drips all over the subway floor. "I don't know much about him and I met him only one time, but he is a very nice man. I am more familiar with his friends."

"Hot?" Sam asks immediately, "Does he have a full head of hair?"

T'Challa lets out a hearty laugh and the girls opposite them give a high pitched giggle, Sam whipping around and frowning at them accidentally. "My friend, are your late nights finally giving your nightmares?"

"Hey, look, don't judge me," Sam chuckles, bringing his leg up so his ankle rests on his knee and smoothing down his pants leg. "I can feel your judgement."

"I would never. I just think you deserve to find someone you can have a proper relationship with now, not someone who feels the need to sneak out in the morning with their underwear in their pocket."

Earnest and genuine to the core, that's T'Challa through and through. He doesn't say anything more, just lets the words settle, and Sam watches as his eyes scan over the ads above the seats across from them and then to the panel that tells them how many stops they have left until Port Authority. The subway car grinds to a halt and a slew of people get off, only for double to get on and Sam tucks his feet in so people can stand where they had once been stretched out. He can't help but to roll his eyes when a guy in a suit stomps right in front of him and almost whacks him over the face with his briefcase when he turns, the man too busy talking on the phone to realise that his luggage is becoming a weapon and his voice is carrying across the entire car. "I hate The Suits," Sam mumbles, mostly to himself but T'Challa hears all the same and nudges him playfully in the ribs. "Yeah, yeah. I know you're...vaguely like them but you're not, I don't know, obnoxious and inconsiderate to anyone who doesn't have a masters degree and a 401K behind them, you know?"

"Not everyone is like that, Sam."

"Yeah? Try walking down Wall Street at five o’clock in booty shorts and a crop top then we'll see who's right." That was definitely a day Sam was willing to forget...but also repeat just to see the look on their faces. _Priceless._

T'Challa didn't seem to think the battle was worth it and fell into silence once more, his phone in his hand and his thumb swiping across the screen as he instead fought against some number game. It wasn't long before Sam found himself watching him, the numbers bouncing into each other and adding so their colours changed and his score went up. He could play one of the few apps he has on his own phone but he's sworn off them for a while, especially after spending almost ninety dollars on _Candy Crush_ just because he was too proud to admit defeat. Luckily he'd realised what he was doing before the cost had went into triple figures.

"This is us," Sam mumbles after a while, the train shuddering to a halt in the station and the two men waiting patiently for the door to open before it slides open. "One day people will realise they'll get on quicker if they let people off first, huh?"

"You're nervous." It's less of a question and more of an outright statement, Sam peering to the side and letting out a laugh. "You're complaining a lot and you've said more to me in the past hour than you have this entire week." It's probably bit of an exaggeration but Sam does tend to ramble on when he's anxious, even if he'll never admit it.

But, yeah, it's been a long time since he sat down and talked to someone before taking them home, and it's definitely been a long time since he sat down and talked to someone _without_ taking them home. Occasionally he'd have the intention of just having a coffee or another drink with them, but before he knew it he was sprawled over the kitchen table with the edge digging into his belly and the legs scratching across the floor. But he's not doing any harm, so what does it matter? He's a young guy and he's allowed to have fun, and he'll keep telling himself that until things start to make sense again.

They both fall into silence once more and force their way through the crowds of Port Authority, tripping over wheelie suitcases and swearing loudly every time someone bumps into them because they’re too busy trying to catch Pokemon. Luckily, it only takes them a few minutes before they’re bursting out into the street, still busy but at least it’s easier to breathe…and it’s stopped raining during their twenty minute train journey. Unfortunately the smell of fresh rain doesn’t quite catch in the middle of the city, the scent being overwhelmingly run over by the smell of summer garbage and those disgusting yet delicious nuts they’re always roasting off on street corners no matter the time of day. In general, the hour of the day means nothing to the people of New York, locals and tourists alike, and someone, somewhere, can always be found even at three in the morning. It's probably why Sam likes it so much; it's possible to feel alone in the city that never sleeps.

"We're almost there," Sam says as they turn down into West 38th, the red canopies of Casa Nonna already sticking out amongst the various other signs and decorations of the street. "Now remember. You have to pretend as though you don't know me. Just sit at the bar, have a couple of drinks, and be ready to haul my ass outta there if he turns out to be a complete jackass, alright?"

"And what exactly am I meant to do to remove you?" T'Challa asks with a grin, and Sam's sure he's already coming up with several different scenarios of his own, probably ranging from acceptable to damn right outrageous and possibly dangerous. T'Challa may look all innocent and like a beacon of peace, but Sam's been on the end of his mischief one too many times to believe that facade. "I'm sure I can think of something..."

"I'm sure you can," Sam agrees stopping in front of the restaurant and giving it a quick once over before sighing and resigning himself to the fact that this is happening. It's fine, he tells himself, he's not really wanting a relationship and this blind date could end up just like all the other "dates" he's had recently. In fact, he could do with it being like those dates because he is needing some good, _hard_ relief right now. "C'mon, let's go. It's not nice to keep a guy waiting."

Stepping into the restaurant, he's met with a bustle of conversation and the type of music that could easily be found in a little village in Italy. Shelves are decorated with fancy plates and bottles and the room is dark enough to be cosy but light enough that he's not worried about falling over his own feet. Even as he steps in a waitress walks by with platefuls of penne, spaghetti and those little bows that Sam always forgets the name of, another girl walking by with a pizza with a smell that goes straight to Sam's stomach. "God I hope he's here already." Already his tummy is grumbling in protest of not being fed and he looks at the people closest to him with lust, wanting nothing more than to fold up that pepperoni pizza in front of them, fold it up, and eat it sandwich style.

“Over there. You’ve kept your prince waiting,” T’Challa says with a smirk and for a second Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, before he follows his eye line and sees a man sitting nursing a half empty drink at the far away end of the bar, “Over you go.”

Sam feels a swoop inside of him and suddenly isn’t so hungry anymore, looking to T’Challa and chewing nervously on the inside of his lip before he nods and hurriedly shoves T’Challa to the opposite end of the bar and makes him promise he won’t eavesdrop. He ends up next to some little cutie of a man so maybe he’ll strike lucky. Someone should tonight, at least. Sam’s cautious as he walks over to his date and he takes in as much of his appearance as he can. The first thing he notices is the way the man’s hair is intricately braided down the centre of his back so it almost reaches the bottom. The dark strands are held together neatly at the end with what looks like one of those little plastic bracelets that kids make for their friends, small charms of pink and purple and green wrapped around in succession with a larger blue shell to finish it off. The second thing he notices is that the guy’s left arm is, well, mangled. It’s not a nice way to describe it but Sam can’t think of another word for the way it looks, deep scarring wrapping around his wrist so the tendons and bones stand out as if there’s just not enough flesh and muscle to protect them. He’s also missing his ring finger and his pinky, the scarring there a little more surgical and a little less traumatic. Sam’s eyes are drawn instantly to it and his mother’s voice scolds him in his head because _it’s rude to stare, Samuel Wilson!_ It’s only now that he’s older that he really understands that.

“Uh, hey,” Sam says uncomfortably as soon as he’s close enough to be heard over the subtle noise of the restaurant, but he doesn’t even gain as much as a look in his direction. “Hi there,” he tries again, and this time the guy brings his head up from where he had been staring at the salt and pepper grinders but doesn’t still quite look at him. Looking down, he can see his earphone leading upwards and his screen flashes up with the cover of that catchy as hell earworm song from 2012, the man swiping his finger across the touchpad so it shuts off. For a second Sam debates opening with a joke about Carly Rae Jepsen and bad music taste but instead he chooses his moment and opts for a much safer, "You’re my blind date, right? I’m Sam. Sam Wilson.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” the guy asks deadpanned, a frown lacing his eyebrows together and hands quickly wrapping his headphones around his phone. It’s only when he turns around properly that Sam notices the way he’s not focussed on anything, and how he stares, not at Sam or even someone else, but at a spot of air a few feet off the ground. It's also then that he notices the folded up white stick resting on the bar top, feeling his heart simultaneously drop down to his feet and come up into his mouth as he realises what he just said. Seconds in and he's already caused offence; that has to be a new record for him. God, he should've went with the bad joke. "Haha!" The guy doesn't laugh, no, he literally shouts out a giant "ha ha!" that makes a couple of people turn and raise an eyebrow or two, and Sam jumps waiting for the punchline. "I bet your face is a picture right now," he chuckles, sliding down off the stool and grappling around on the bar until he finds his stick. "I had to, I'm sorry. I'm James. I'm, uh, I'm not really seasoned in this whole dating thing so, uh, I figured a joke was a good way to go. No?"

James ruffles his hair slightly and shrugs and Sam's pretty sure he feels a butterfly flap around in his tummy. _Oh no, he's cute_ , he thinks, and already he's wondering if T'Challa will be a Good Bro and make himself scarce for a few hours tonight. Okay, maybe a few hours is pushing it. "No, ah, it's great," Sam finds himself replying, his heart rate settling as he looks over James properly.

He's wearing tight black jeans and a simple white tee with his cardigan, and when he shifts Sam sees the hint of suspenders and goes weak at the knees. He can't help but felt a little underdressed now, his charcoal long sleeved shirt and plain jeans seeming a little underwhelming. Well, whatever. He's worked damn hard to fit his ass into these jeans and there's no denying that the shirt just hugs in all the right places. "Should we, uh, should we get our table?" he finally asks, realising that he's been gawping at the guy without saying a word for a good amount of time.

"Yeah! I’m starved.” James is full of enthusiasm and waits patiently as Sam finds the hostess, the woman moving over with flowing hair and red lips to lead them to their table. Or more, she leads Sam and Sam instantly forgets that his date is going to need a little help, his eyes going wide about ten steps in before he whips around in horror. James is standing looking a little lost, and also a little embarrassed, his hands wringing around his stick before he hears his name being called. “Did’ya forget about me?” he chuckles, but this time his voice isn’t quite as strong as it was before.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god, sorry,” Sam's apologises, deciding what’s the best way to help before he settles for holding onto James’ arm. “I, uh, if you need anything just say, alright? Like, it’s not a problem.”

Another nervous laugh comes from the other man and he adjusts himself so he is the one holding onto Sam’s upper arm, his touch light and gentle as they walk to where their table is situated. “Didn’t expect it to be,” James shrugs, and that’s that. His hand moves out to find the back of the chair and he knocks the seat with his knee before sitting down, seeming to give a relieved sigh when he manages to sit down and not find himself spreadeagled on the floor.

“Your menus, sirs,” the waitress smiles, and Sam looks up to see that her name tag reads Mia. “Can I get you some drinks or would you like a few minutes to look over our drinks menu?”

It only takes them a minute or two to order a couple of extravagant cocktails full of spirits and a jug of water before they’re officially starting their date, James placing his stick on the right hand side of the table and then placing his drink right next to it when it arrives. He seems nervous all of a sudden, a vast contrast from the loud, joking guy he’d just introduced himself to a few minutes ago. Sam watches him over the top of his own menu and steals glances as he reads down the list of antipasti, cheese, pastas, meats and, of course, pizza. The meatballs pique his interest immediately and he puts that into his head as a definite maybe. He’s always been a fan of those, especially his aunt’s special ones that she’d always make the day after Thanksgiving.

Sam looks up again and sees James sitting looking sad, like one of those lost puppies that you see left out in the rain, covered in muck and giving you those big sad eyes that make you want to give them your sort code and account number. It's only when his fingers brush over the edges of the menu that Sam realises his second mistake, staying quiet and looking down at the words in front of him. The words that he can read so easily that he forgets other people can't. "Uh, check this out," he finds himself saying before he can stop himself, "Beef and pork meatballs with ricotta and pomodoro sauce. Those bad boys are gonna be mine.” Sam's trying to help without being awkward, even if he's now wondering how he can work every menu item into casual conversation. "You're not a picky eater are you? Gluten free? Dairy free? Veggie?" Sam's serious now, dropping his menu down and leaning forward. "You're not a vegan, are you? Vegans need not apply, like, ever."

James lets out a loud cackle and throws his head back, giving it a shake and grinning. "M'not! I'll eat anything," he answers, and Sam's relieved that he's a man after his own heart. "Except mushrooms. Oh, and salad. Definitely not salad. Like, it's not awful but it's not that great and if I'm gonna eat something I wanna enjoy it, you know?"

"I hear ya!" Sam picks up the menu again and picks out a few dishes that are free of mushrooms and salad, going from a delicious sounding pistachio crusted pork chop to a simple pasta with ragu sauce. He tries to make it so he's not just rattling it off and he hopes that it's worth the effort, James sitting listening with a small smile and his eyes locked onto the table. "They also have fish dishes but, uh, damn, I have the best aquarium in my place, a real nice hundred and twelve gallon tropical tank...I just can't bring myself to eat fish since I got it. They're my girls, man.” But he goes through them anyway, and he can’t deny that the swordfish does sound nice…it also makes him realise that this place is way fancier than he thought it was. He’s definitely underdressed.

“Mm, it all sounds so good,” James smiles, dipping his head to take another sip of his drink and jumping a little when the waitress suddenly speaks from behind him.

“Would you gentlemen like to order some food?” she asks with her signature smile, Sam wondering if her cheeks are hurting yet or if she’s just started her shift. They both agree that they’re done browsing and Sam orders the meatballs he’d spotted at the very beginning, along with a chicken parmigiana that seemed like the safest option for him. He wasn’t about to order something fancy, be terrified of it, and then embarrass himself in front of his date over there. “And for you, sir?”

“Um, your fish options,” James starts, and Sam’s pretty sure his jaw almost hits the fine wood of the table, “Do they come with their heads and tails, you know? Are their eyeballs in there?” The waitress lets out a laugh and declares that, no, all their fish courses are filleted and free from bones, eyeballs, and anything else unpleasant. Sam shakes his head and silently snorts when James sighs in disappointment and gives another smile. “Ah, okay,” he mumbles, “Uh, can I have tomato and basil bruschetta to start, and then, hmm, yeah, the pasta that has the brown butter and butternut squash, please.” James pauses and stops as if he’s trying to remember something, Sam getting ready to look at the menu again just in case he needs some help. “And, uh, a margarita pizza, please.”

“Both the margarita and the pasta?” the waitress asks, just to be sure. There’s no judgement in her voice and she simply nods when James confirms, giving them another grin as she slips her pad into her apron and tucks her pen in her hair. “Wonderful, I’ll bring those over as soon as they’re ready.”

A silence falls over them for only seconds before Sam taps the table and chuckles. “Eyeballs?! Really?!” he exclaims, imagining his lovely little blood parrot cichlid that likes to watch him while he vacuums. She’s bright orange, has a chunk missing out of her tail, and if one of T’Challa’s damn cats even try to get at her Sam won’t think twice about using the accused as a whoopee cushion. She's only one of a long list of animals in his little apartment. James only giggles and gives a shrug, sipping from his drink and winking at Sam across the table. “God, I hate you.” Sam hopes to god that James doesn’t think he was being serious. He definitely doesn’t hate him, obviously. In fact, those butterflies in his tummy are getting stronger and every time James laughs he’s positive they multiply inside of him. _Get it together, Wilson, you’re not here for that._ They make small talk for a few minutes before Sam gives a laugh and comments, “So, uh, you like your food, huh? Man after my own heart!”

“Sure, what’s not to love? Especially pizza. It's bread, tomato sauce and cheese. I love all of those things, especially when it's toasty and gooey and you have to pull your slice halfway to the moon just so the cheese will come away. God, I love food. Can't you tell?" James pats his belly and Sam gives a noncommittal shrug, swirling his straw in his drink and eyeing up the other man.

James has that geeky chic style down and it's something that Sam would go for only sometimes, but beyond that he is the complete opposite to what Sam usually likes in a guy. He's larger than what he would usually go for, both in height and shape; Sam usually likes to be the bigger one, and at just under five ten with nearly 180lbs of muscle (okay, maybe not all muscle), it's not usually _that_ hard. But James is bigger in the sense that Sam can see squishy bits of his hips at the waistline of his jeans and his t-shirt is straining a little across his chest and abdomen, Sam seeing maybe a glimmer of abs but he's sure he's just all soft and cuddly under there. His hair is even longer than Sam usually likes on a partner, preferring short hair that feels like fuzz when you stroke your hand over it instead of the stuff that fills your face when you get too close. Then again, it’s definitely better for grabbing a hold of. He’s sitting there looking cute as hell as he sips from his glass, holding it between both of his hands and taking long gulps from the bright pink straw between his lips. Sam’s sure he went for the fruitiest drink on the menu but he’s drinking it as though it’s going out of fashion, Sam in two minds whether or not to tell him to slow down before he’s ass over head in an hour.

It's when Sam focuses back on James’ face that he realises he’s is staring in his direction, poised as if he's waiting for an answer with a small smirk on his lips and his chin resting in his hand. “You know,” he starts slowly, picking his head up and brushing a few strands of loose hair away from his face, “My vision is absolutely terrible but I can see just enough to know that you’ve been staring at me for the past few minutes.” Sam jumps and quickly looks away as though he’s been burned, giving a nervous laugh and hiding his embarrassment behind his drink. Just in case. “Don’t go taking advantage of my not being able to see now. I’ll know if you’re sitting over there playing Candy Crush on your phone.”

“Candy Crush?! Jesus, am I that readable?” laughs Sam, proud to say that his phone is still in his jacket that’s now draped over the back of his chair and that he hasn’t wanted to pull it out once. He hates those dates where you have to do something other than sit in awkward silence, so if nothing else comes from this night at least he can say it was somewhat enjoyable. Neither of them are running for the door, at least. “So, uh, you can see? That’s, uh, that’s cool?”

They both burst out laughing at the same time and the couple the next table over look at them curiously, Sam snorting and spying something that looks suspiciously like delicious meatballs coming his way. “Yeah, man,” James answers, Sam adjusting the table a little so there’s space for the food. He shifts his drink to the side and tucks the large salt and pepper grinders behind the drinks menu that’s been threatening to flop off for the past five minutes, James already back to gulping down his cocktail so it’s out of the way already. “Not much. It’s, uh, it’s mostly lights and shadows,” the other man explains, and Sam hangs on every word like it’s saving his life, “Like, let’s see, I can’t read a book or those stupid little charts that they have at the doctor’s office, but I can vaguely see your silhouette against the window behind you…which is how I noticed the fact that it looked as though you were staring at me and then your head didn’t move for nearly two minutes. So, am I right? Or is that awfully egotistical and presumptuous of me?”

“I’m gonna plead the fifth,” Sam chuckles, the waitress coming up behind James with her usual smile.

“I have bruschetta for one,” the waitress, Mia, says with a smile as she places the plate in front of the other man, “And meatballs for you, sir. Can I get you any more drinks?” James immediately asks for another and Sam does the same, but this time he orders a cider with a Swedish name and a peach and apricot flavour. “Of course, I’ll bring those right over.” She walks away and the two men fall into a comfortable quiet, Sam watching James curiously as he forgoes the cutlery and picks up his bruschetta with dainty fingers and a steady hand. He can’t help but to notice that he only uses his right, the scarred left resting in his lap where it’s been most of the night and a flash of pain moving across his face every time he moves it too much. Sam wonders what happened, wonder what could cause such a mess, but knows better than to ask on a first date. Just like revealing things about himself, some things are best left until later when it doesn’t involve a quick hookup over a Tinder message and a train ride to a shady apartment in the Bronx.

It was always easier that way. Being shot down or insulted on the screen of an iPhone is a lot easier than face to face. Answering a rude question or inconsiderate comment with a catty remark is easier than sitting across from someone and pretending that it’s fine. Plastering on a fake smile when someone is telling you that “you’re a really great person but…” is a little more soul destroying, and so totally not what Sam’s here for tonight. So he keeps his information to himself, for now, and they eat their food while they talk about whatever comes to mind. Before they can finish their starters, they’re talking about their worst dates and Sam relives the tale of the guy who left him with the massive bill and then the one of the girl who went home with him, got into bed, and then threw up over his bedsheets and a huge pile of laundry that had just been cleaned. Funnily enough, neither of them called back after that.

James tells him in return that he’s never really dated all that much and that his previous relationships have just come “naturally”, whatever that’s meant to mean. He also learns that this is James’ first date in a long time (there's something strange in his voice when he says that) and it’s then that Sam understands why he’s drinking so quickly, questioning him curiously and receiving another laugh in return. “Am _I_ that readable?” he asks, and Sam feels the blush rise from his neck up to the tops of his ears. He swore to himself that this wasn’t going to be anything, _this isn’t going to be anything_ , but every time James looks at him with a stupid half smirk he just wants to wipe it off his face with his mouth. He reminds himself of it when James says he's scoring pretty high date-wise, and again when his feet battle his own beneath the table in a battle for a good spot, shaking his head as their plates are taken away and James stomps on his on his toes with his military grade boots to get him to move.

“Dirty player!” Sam's cheeks are beginning ache from smiling so much now and he thinks about fighting back, but instead settles for having one of James’ feet resting between his own. They had been on jobs before their little bit of teasing and Sam only just caught the fact that James used to work with security programming before he’d become too distracted, picking up his drink as the other man plays with his straw. “So, if you used to do that,” he continues, taking a gulp before going on, “What do you do now?”

“Uh, right now I'm working with a LGBT centre in Brooklyn, mostly with our younger people,“ James says, and Sam almost laughs because of how surreal the whole thing is. Of course that's where he works. He wishes that that gave him more hope for maybe telling James that he's trans but experience holds him back, and instead it makes his butterflies turn into...well, straight up nausea. "My friend put me in touch with them after the accident." Sam pushes away the feeling that's settled in his chest and can't help but to focus more at James' words almost in spite of himself. Curiosity killed the cat, his mama would always say, followed by a sharp _"and don't you dare say satisfaction brought it back!"_ "I always thought they just helped you figure stuff out and everything, you know, like when you're fourteen and staring at your best friend and wondering what it would be like to kiss him? Or when you're sixteen and being shoved face first into the ground because the other boys at school think you're ogling them? Nineteen, and still in love with your best friend and he's neither gay nor aware of that fact. The list goes on." James looks down then and Sam can see the light pink blush on his cheeks, the other man reaching for his drink again as if it's some kind of comfort blanket. There’s more to that, there’s definitely more. ”Oh, Unrequited Love, what a heartless bitch." His drink clunks down onto the table again and he takes a breath before continuing, Sam focussing intently on the way he speaks and the way a Brooklyn born accent peeks out every now and then. Huh, he’s always fancied himself a Brooklyn Boy. "Anyway, as I was saying before my teenage angst came out, turns out they do a lot more than that and they helped me get back on my feet again, in a way. Now I'm trying to help others do the same, I guess. I'm thinking about going back to school for social work or something."

"Wow, that's great, man!" Sam grins, and he can't help but to notice the way pride flits across James’ features. "Must be pretty rewarding, huh?" Sam feels as though he's on cloud nine as he listens to James talk about his work with the enthusiasm and passion that matches a little kid taking about going to the moon, the other man talking about events he's helped organise and people he's helped get back on their feet, especially one girl called Wanda ("I shouldn't really name her so please don't tell anyone!" he had immediately said in a complete panic) who he’s convinced is going to rule the world one day. _She has the fight of a thousand soldiers_ , James had said with a grin and a gentle sigh. Sam's so busy staring at him with hearts beating out of his eyes that he almost misses being asked what it is that he does, straightening up quickly and letting out a small laugh.

"Uh, I have my own pet store, actually. Usually I say I'm an entrepreneur and run my own business but fuck it- I have my own pet store and it's my pride and joy!" Sam pauses only to look quickly to the kitchen when he sees something that looks like their order be placed on the pass, making quick work of everything in the way and pushing it to one side. “Y’know when you’re a kid and you have a dream that you wanna be a popstar or a firefighter or an astronaut, or whatever, right? Mine was always to have my own pet store!” Ever since he was a kid and his mama took him to get his first hamster, he was obsessed. He spent all of his pocket money there, buying everything from extravagant tube mazes to those balls that he could watch little Data run around in. Sam still remembers the time the little thing burst out of his ball and got into the sofa. Boy was his pop mad when he had to take a knife to the back of it.

Sam’s grinning so wide now that he must look like a psychopath to the waitress as she comes over and slides James’ pizza onto the table first, before the two other plates are placed in front of their respective owners and they both thank the girl with a smile. “Smells great!”

“Absolutely!” James carefully feels around the table and Sam watches curiously as he brushes against the plate with the pizza and then the plate with the pasta, carefully feeling it with his pinky before picking up his fork with a smile and licking the sauce from his skin. Looking down, Sam’s met with the most delicious looking chicken parm that he’s ever seen, the bulk of it resting on a bed of perfectly cooked spaghetti with tomato sauce and parmesan grated in fine shards across the top. God, he might as well straight up drool over the food (and James, to be real) and get it over with. “I might need a hand - uh, no pun intended,” James starts, waving his injured hand and laughing with food in his mouth and sauce already down his chin, “I might need a hand cutting the pizza if it’s not done already.”

“No problem, man.” Sam stops and smiles as he dips his head and sighs. “Uh, you got a little- um, can I?” It’s such a classic move that Sam’s giggling as he reaches over and wipes away the sauce from James’ chin, feeling the stubble that’s obviously just been shaved and pulling away as slowly as he can without it being weird. Such a cliché.

Clearly, James is thinking the same. “Smooth,” he jokes, and his foot knocks against Sam’s playfully once more before reaching for his drink.

That Sam moved.

That he’s reaching for and no wonder he’s frowning because it’s not fucking there.

Sam realises his mistake as soon as James moves his hand and rushes to pick up the glass, mumbling about six different sentences at once and pushing it into James’ hand so quickly and so hard that the glass immediately drops and falls into his date’s lap, alcohol spilling down his jeans, over his crotch, and onto the hardwood floor beneath them. All at once, Sam feels as though his body has been thrown into a furnace but his mind is left outside, his brain freezing as he stares and stares and opens his mouth and- _fuck._

“Holy shit!” He’s all too aware that he shouts it across the fancy restaurant that serves swordfish but ignores others patrons’ stares without a second glance, standing up quickly and looking around helplessly for a towel of some sort. Luckily, a waiter across the room has noticed his predicament and is hurrying over with a clean towel, Sam spinning and looking down at James with a red face and shaking hands. “I’m so sorry- oh my god, I’m sorry. I didn’t think-” Fuck, his ass is sweating. “Do you need help? I can help clean you up, if you need?!” Great, now he’s yelling. He has swamp ass, he’s yelling across the restaurant, and he’s made his terribly cute date look as though he’s wet himself. Like, _actually._

"You're gonna have to buy me dinner before that happens, babe." James is half laughing and half looking mortified (no where near as much as Sam, though) as he stands up and ice cubes fall from his lap to the ground. “And I’ll be alright,” he continues, giving another laugh as a towel is pushed into his hand by the waiter and nobody seems to know what to do. “Ten bucks says a little golden retriever masquerading as a man is bounding over as we speak.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak - to ask what the hell James is on about - before he’s unceremoniously knocked to the side and a five foot something wall of pure defiance is standing in front of him. “Buck, you alright?!” the guy asks breathlessly, peering over his shoulder at Sam as if he’s ready to shove his face into his plate of spaghetti. “Damn, I never should have-”

“I’m good, Steve,” James grins, holding onto his friend’s arm lightly and patting it, “This is Sam. Sam, this is Steve.” He’s a tiny little thing of a guy and yet he’s looking around the place as if he’s going to fight anyone who so much as breathes in his direction, his brows seeming to be knotted into a frown and his jaw tensing as he sighs. No hello, no smile, nadda! “Help me to the restroom? M’just gonna dry this off and I’ll be right back…” It’s Steve who nods first and Sam steps out of the way to let them past, James looking over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin. “Or maybe I’ll leg it out the window and you’ll be left to foot the bill again, huh Sam?” And then the fucker winks, and Sam groans, sinks down onto his chair, and debates face planting into his food himself.

This is the issue. He falls fast, and he falls hard. He free falls without a parachute and expects himself to be okay at the end of it. Sometimes it works out okay. With Riley, he was lucky that he was there to catch him. But with others, usually he’s left falling, and crashing, and landing flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him and his eyes looking up to an empty sky. “Fuck,” Sam lets out sharply, looking around to motion for T’Challa to see his chair occupied by someone who is definitely not him. “Bastard.” It doesn’t take him a full minute to get his friend on the other end of the phone, his eyes splitting their attention between trying to look nonchalant and watching the washroom door like a hawk. “Where the hell you at?!”

 _“You seemed to be getting along well, so I left,”_ T’Challa says simply, and by the quiet on the line it sounds as though he’s already made it back to the apartment, _“I hope I wasn’t mistaken?”_

The date so far is playing through Sam’s mind like one of those old movie reels, and he’s pretty sure his mistakes have overrun the good things. “I called him my blind date,” Sam starts, holding his fist against his mouth and fighting the urge to just scream. “Coulda forewarned me, that’s all I’m saying!” T’Challa gives a hearty laugh and Sam makes it his mission to get on the phone to Apple to ask them to make it possible to strangle someone through the airwaves. “I stranded him in the middle of this place, spilled his drink over him, and I almost let him go hungry!” Sam pauses and shakes his head, running his hand over his hair before it comes down over his face. “I almost starved my date, man!”

 _“For someone who didn’t care about this date,”_ T’Challa starts, and Sam knows where he’s going before he utters another word. He didn’t care and now he cares too much, and T’Challa was right, and he was wrong, and blah, blah, blah, _“You sure do seem concerned, Sam.”_ There it is.

“Yeah, well, he’s nice. He’s cute, and he’s funny, and he’s- shut up, alright. He’s a nice guy." Sam stops and takes another chance to look around to the bathroom door, half convinced that James is already halfway down 35th Street in an attempt to escape with his wet pants. "Unlike you, might I add. What kind of wingman just gets up and leaves?"

_"The kind that sees you making heart eyes across the table, my friend!"_

"I'll remember this the next time you're trying to get with someone in the apartment, I hope you know that," Sam warns, and for once it may not be an empty threat. He looks up just in time to see Steve come out of the restroom and make a beeline straight for Sam, his brow still stuck in a frown and his hands curled into fists at his side. "Hey, I gotta go but if I don't call back in like max two hours call the ER. Bye!"

"Buck'll be right out." Sam stares at Steve and blinks obliviously before it clicks into place, looking from Steve to the bathroom door and back again. "Uh, he's probably gonna be too stubborn to call an Uber or catch a cab himself so can you just make sure he gets home alright? He worries me when he takes the subway."

"Uh..." Steve's voice is surprisingly gentle and older than his years, his eyes boring into Sam so he nods and smiles as some sort of silent answer. "Yeah, yeah, of course!"

Steve gives one curt nod and walks away without saying anything else, his phone out of his pocket and against his ear before he can even get out of the restaurant. Sam watches him until he's out the door before he turns back, looking around to see James coming towards him slowly and with his stick waving from side to side. A few people need to pull their bags out of the way and tuck themselves in a little more but he makes it over without a problem, even if he does stop by Sam and questions himself whether he's at the right table. "You're still in the building!" Sam exclaims, pulling out James' chair and tucking it as he sits down. What a gentleman; his mama will be so proud. "Score!"

"Haha! Stevie offered to give me a boost out the window, m'not going to lie."

“I see. My out totally left me here. Apparently, we looked as though we were getting along swimmingly,” Sam explains, giving a wink of his own before continuing. “But, no offence here, it seems as though you'd break him if y'all tried that," Sam jokes, and that only makes James laugh harder. Apparently Steve is much more "hardy" than he looks but is also a "reckless punk" when it comes to getting into fisticuffs with people. Just the other week, James says, he punched a drunk guy at the hospital for being rude to his wife. That's also how Sam learns that Steve is married, has a five year old daughter, a three year old son, and brand new baby twin girls. By the way that James' eyes go brighter and sadder all at once, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he is the subject of the unrequited love. "So Buck...what's the name all about? Is it some ludicrous rodeo story, a terrible time where you sold yourself for a dollar, or is it actually really boring?"

"God! I wish it was one of those!" James giggles, already back to tucking into his food after the waitress had removed the fancy domes. "It's really boring. It's short for Buchanan - my middle name - so I'm James Buchanan Barnes...and like many fifteenth presidents and average men before me, I most absolutely do not have my shit together." Sam snorts at that; he seems pretty collected, he thinks. "Did you know that he's regarded as America's worst president? Like...ever? People are also pretty sure that he was our first gay president as well."

"Damn, there goes my dream then!" Sam jokes, twirling his spaghetti around the fork before scooping it into his mouth before it has the chance to unravel. He watches with a smile as James giggles and then proceeds to shovel one slice after another of pizza into his mouth, making his way through three slices before he turns his attention back to the delicious looking pasta next to him. “Any good?”

“Yeah! You want a try?” James asks with a grin, immediately stabbing one of the fluffy pillows of pasta and raising it. “I would feed you all romantically it but it might end up in your eye, man.”

Sam’s not sure, but he thinks there’s a hint of disappointment in James’ voice. He gives a small smile anyway and reaches his hand up, gently wrapping his fingers around James’ wrist and moving his hand where he needs. “Eyeballs both intact,” he comments with a mouth full of smooth butternut squash and crispy walnuts, “Damn, that’s good.” James only grins wider and offers Sam pizza as well, the both of them giggling as Sam offers some spaghetti and then promptly lets the strands slap down ungracefully onto James’ chin. “Oh no,” he mumbles, giving an exaggerated sigh and scooting closer, “I guess I should get that as well, huh?”

“I guess you should…”

And that’s how it plays out. Sam swipes away the bright red sauce and feels James lean into his touch, the two of them moving closer so they're sharing practically one corner of the little square table they've taken up residence of. Their legs keep bumping and Sam thinks about resting his hand on James' thigh, before he remembers that He's Not Here For That but he also knows he's falling and his heart is skipping a beat and James is leaning against his side with his loud laugh and his hand moving to entwine their fingers. They talk about nothing and everything, and Sam tells James that he was once engaged but he lost his partner very suddenly, and James returns that he's not sure he's ever really been in love and wants to understand all those stupid songs. Neither of them are sure why they reveal such things right then.

It goes from heavy to light and Sam pokes fun at the fact James was listening to Carly Rae Jepsen when they first introduced themselves, before they both agree that Taylor Swift "really ain't that bad" and doesn't deserve the shit she gets. Sam's a _1989_ kinda guy, whilst James is firmly a _Speak Now_ or forever hold your peace gentlemen. Both of them admit to unashamedly dancing around to _Shake It Off_ in their underwear, though. Their laughs carry across the restaurant and people curiously look around, neither of them taking any notice except to point out that they are officially that couple in the restaurant. They’re all arms entwined, heads bumping together, feet playing under the wood of the table…and Sam’s done pretending that this isn’t anything.

 _It’s just a date,_ he tries to tell himself, and yet he’s already thinking about the next as their main plates are taken away and they’re battling over the last mouthful of some sort of chocolate on chocolate on chocolate dessert. They barely even notice the restaurant emptying and the outside getting dark, until James raises his head and wonders why it’s got quieter around them. It’s that that makes Sam crack up even more, getting the hint and asking for the bill before whipping out his wallet.

“This is all on me,” he says before James can protest, pulling out his card before a strong hand settles around his wrist. _“James.”_

 _“Samuel.”_ James shifts his butt and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, fumbling around for his card before slapping it down on top of Sam’s. “I had a pizza as well. I pay.”

“That I ate half of! Come on, man, let me treat you,” Sam tries, before he pauses, swallows, and nervously goes on, “You can buy next time.”

James only lets out an exasperated sigh and pulls his card away, not quite giving Sam an answer to whether or not there’ll be a next time but…he’s not exactly saying no, is he? He lets Sam pay but puts down a twenty dollar bill for the waitress, the both of them falling into more conversation as they stand and collect their things. It’s awkward for only a second before James gently links their arms and lets Sam lead him outside, the two of them taking in deep breaths as they get fresh air for the first time in a good three and a half hours. Sam isn’t too sure where James lives but he figures if he walks in the direction of Penn Station then he can’t go too wrong. Between there and 34th Street, James is bound to have a line he can hop on. Unless he should maybe get him a cab. That’d be better, right? That's what Steve asked, anyway.

“All I’m saying is you can’t just form an opinion on the absolute princess that is Carly Rae Jepsen because of one song she had four years ago, alright?” Sam is pulled back to a world where transport isn’t the main topic and looks at James blankly, even if that soon changes to him watching the way he smiles and the way his hand moves as he talks. “You need to listen to her newest album…and her older one actually, while you’re at it. Have you- wait, have you listened to the album that has Call Me Maybe on it?” He doesn’t even wait for Sam to reply before he goes on, and Sam reckons the air has mixed with the alcohol now. “Just embrace it and face the fact that she’s the deserving Queen of Pop. And happiness for that matter. She’s a darling.”

“Can think of another darling I’d rather listen to,” Sam tries, and he swears he sees James roll his eyes at him. He rolled his eyes! _At him_. “That was classy, admit it.”

“That was cheesy.”

“Maybe a little,” Sam giggles, wondering if it’s possible to change James’ mind about going for drinks. He’s already asked and been shot down once though, and he’s not sure he wants the rejection for a second time. “So where do you call home anyway? Don’t tell me you’re from the Upper West Side, I don’t think my heart or wallet can take it.” Sam’s dated someone who lived in some chic penthouse before; he swore he’d never go somewhere that has a maid and a doorman again. He’s perfectly happy with his cute little apartment that he shares with his not-boyfriend that gets a bit cold in the winter and smells a bit weird in the summer. _It adds character_ , he always tells T’Challa.

“Haha, no! Brooklyn born and bred. Williamsburg, actually. I used to be Prospect Heights, just off Washington Avenue, but then, uh, you know- things happen, and I moved in with Steve and his family, and, hey-" James explains before cutting himself off, giving a laugh and holding onto Sam tighter, “You ever seen that episode of Friends where they joke that they’ll have a little place above the garage for Joey to grow old? Well, I’m Joey.” James gives a sad shrug and sighs, pulling out his stick that had been tucked away and lengthening it with a flick of his hand. “How about you?”

“Harlem, baby! Raised two streets over from where I live now. Upside is I see mama every week, downside is I see mama every week.” James chuckles as that and they slowly come to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk, a flurry of cabs and other cars going past them so Sam guesses James is just gonna jump in one any minute now. Taxi cab it is then. “You gonna be alright getting home? I can ride with you, if you want?”

“Not totally helpless, you know?” James teases, and Sam sees his cheeks redden considerably. There’s a quiet that falls over them and they can’t hear anything except the whizz of vehicles and the shouts of other people, the bright lights of storefronts seeming to entrance James a little as he stares and smiles. “I had a really nice time tonight, Sam.”

Sam tilts his head and gives a laugh, nodding and moving his hand to hold the other man’s tightly. “Me too,” he replies, chewing the inside of his cheek and shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, “Mm, so would you say it was nice enough to consider it again? How about, uh, I don’t know…you, me, a movie, and a couple of tubs of Ben and Jerry’s one day?”

“I prefer Häagen Dazs,” James grins, stepping closer to the sidewalk and throwing his arm out. It’s only a split second before yellow cab pulls up and Sam smiles, looking to James and finding his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “That’s a cab and not just some random guy thinking I’m wanting some fun tonight, right?”

“Got it in one.” A tense silence follows and Sam’s still holding James’ hand lightly, his heart hammering in his chest and his throat drying by the second. “Hey, before you go, I have a question…” James waits patiently and Sam just wishes he would say something, biting his bottom lip and finding himself relieved that James can’t see how awkward he’s being. That’s kinda bad, right? “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?” Now or never, right?

The words linger in the air like thick syrup and Sam pretty sure he’s gonna throw up, James just staring at him before he gives a slow nod and takes a step forward. Sam doesn’t take the time to think about it. His free hand comes up and moves to the side of James’ neck, pulling him closer and brushing their lips together gently. It’s not a big thing, their lips press together for only a few seconds, but Sam feels a warm move across him and his breathless by the time he pulls back. He opens his eyes in time to see James do the same, the both of them barely moving before the other man dips his head and gives a chuckle. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?” Sam smirks, his thumb stroking over the side of James’ face before he removes his hand completely.

“No, that was, uh, that was perfect,” James sighs almost dreamily, hearing the cab driver shout on him and waving his right hand as a gesture. That only makes the driver beep his horn and James takes a step back, Sam taking that as his cue to throw open the door and help James to get in without earning himself a concussion. “Wait!” James shouts so loudly that both Sam and the poor taxi driver jump, Sam looking down at him with wide eyes as he pulls out his phone and shoves it into Sam’s hand. “Put your number in and I’ll text you mine, okay?”

“Shit, we almost forgot.” That would be just Sam’s luck. He’d meet a cute guy, fall hopelessly for him, then lose him into the void that is New York god damn City. He punches his number in and saves it under ‘Sam :)’, giving it back to James and folding his arms across his chest. “Make sure and text me now. Or don’t. You know, whatever you want.”

James gives another one of his big laughs and nods. “Real smooth.” He yanks his legs into the car and shuts the door, peering out the open window and unlocking his phone to prove he’s already on it. “Thanks again, Sam.”

The car screeches away before Sam can form even another word, leaving him looking after the yellow taxi with a kind of longing that’s perhaps a little pathetic. He doesn’t move until the cab has turned down the street, turning around and letting out a long sigh of….not relief, but something else. Sam’s not sure what, quite yet. He’s in a daydream as he makes his way back up to Penn Station that’s a little closer, an extra spring in his step as he gives five dollars to a guy sitting on the corner and another five to a clever young girl playing a cute song on the violin. He’s just about to go through the turnstiles to the station when his phone gives a beep and vibrates in his hand.

An unknown number comes through but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is, Sam laughing to himself and shaking his head as he reads the message:

**“Song recommendation is my darling Carly Rae Jepsen and I really really like you. Youtube it. James.”**

Sam’s already grinning from ear to ear before the next one comes through:

**“Call me maybe. ;-)"**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, if you did! if you didn't, then thanks for at least thinking about it!
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed it because i certainly enjoyed writing it. i'm sort of in love with these two and i'm already writing a sequel for them simply because it's self indulgent as hell.
> 
> i'm always open to yelling on [tumblr](http://solsix.tumblr.com/) if ya fancy.
> 
> originally posted october 7th 2016.


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